


a garden for your love

by eggsntoast



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Friends to Lovers, Hanahaki Disease, Love Confessions, M/M, Miscommunication, Pining, Sharing a Bed, Sick Character, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-02-24 02:34:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23735752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eggsntoast/pseuds/eggsntoast
Summary: He’s learning to breathe with them, even if he ends up with a floor full of violets by the end of it all.They remind Isak of him, and that’s all that matters.That’s what makes it worse.or: a Hanahaki au ft. Isak heavily pining after Even.
Relationships: Even Bech Næsheim/Isak Valtersen
Comments: 35
Kudos: 264





	a garden for your love

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Welcome to my Hanahaki fic for Day 7 of Skamweeks ~~ I hope you enjoy!

_roses red and violets blue,_

_a thorn for me, a flower for you._

_roses delight, violets end,_

_would you meet me in the garden?_

.

. 

.

The petals that litter the floor of Isak’s bedroom swoop up in the air as his door swings open, a reckoning force like no other passing through the threshold, and all Isak can do is suck in a harsh breath, trying and failing completely, to hold back another fit of unending coughs. 

The petals don’t give him the option.

They are soft and delicate, round. Deep blue and pink-violet hues.

Suffocating at best. 

The first time Isak coughed a heart-shaped violet petal into his palm, he’d stood in the hallway between the washroom and bedroom in shock, mesmerized and scared all the same. Isak was frozen, he thought it was a literal chunk of his heart, for that’s what it felt like to get out of his system. Torn from somewhere inside of him. He could feel the way something was taking root in him, but he never thought it would amount to _this._

And it was that moment he was struck by the realization: _I’m in love with Even._

It’s only gotten worse since then. 

It’s not as if he could have done something to prevent this. He saw what had become of all the bottled feelings, bruises on his heart manifesting before his eyes. 

There was an end in sight, and as the petals grew bigger, got harder to choke out and keep down, Isak felt smaller and weaker, decaying on the inside, wilting into nothingness. 

It’s only a matter of time before they bloom into full-size flowers, and there’s a twisted part of him that wants to see them. Wait for it. Feel it as the flowers try to slither out, and the inevitability of them never seeing the light of day, for them to finally succeed in choking him. 

Petals surround Isak, and he had watched each one flutter through the air, others sticking to his palms or the corners of his mouth. He’s too tired to bother wiping them away. He’s got his feet pressed flat onto the wood floors, having slid to the edge of his bed at some point to try and find some sense of stability amongst the mess he keeps creating. 

Isak tries to say something, but his mouth is full of them, and instead, he focuses on swallowing the lumps in his throat. 

Jonas, _the fucker_ , somehow found his way in, and he closes the door behind him after he enters. 

“Isak...” Jonas' voice is thick with concern and worry, exhaling as he speaks. 

“ _Don’t_ , Jonas.” Isak spares the easiest of words, tries to convey that he needs to be _alone_ right now - he _should_ be alone, he made sure to text the group chat he wouldn’t be free this weekend, but what he failed to mention was he’d be lying here, surrounded by the reminder of his heartache. 

“Why didn’t you tell me how bad it’s gotten?” He asks, a hint of anger in his tone that he will surely apologize for later. Isak wishes he would just get upset at him, but throughout all of this he’s been nothing but _extremely_ understanding, in a way Isak _doesn’t_ understand. Doesn’t _want._

He walks towards Isak, at his side in half a second, putting a hand on his shoulder and quietly willing Isak to meet his eyes. 

But he’s too entranced by the deep colors bursting around him, the crawling vines that arise from deep within him, squeezing around his heart and throat, making everything seem better and worse all at once. 

He’s fixated on the feeling, on the wasting and rotting. He wants to lie down, sink into the ground, let the earth reclaim him. 

“Isak, you _need_ to tell him.” Jonas says sternly, and as he kneels down to meet Isak’s wary gaze, he’s careful not to press his knee down against any of the petals. 

Though he never voiced it outright, Isak is irresistibly fond of each petal that sprouts from his lungs. He never imagined that he’d be able to produce something like this, something so beautiful, and though it was cruel, to himself most of all, to spend his time admiring the one thing that will surely kill him, he can’t help it. 

He’s learning to breathe with them, even if he ends up with a floor full of violets by the end of it all. 

It’s worth coughing up gardens all night. 

They are beautiful. 

They are lovely. 

They remind Isak of _him,_ and that’s all that matters. 

That’s what makes it worse. 

“I can’t tell him.” Isak responds, voice strained, and his chest squeezes, his stomach swirling in a whirlpool of intensity as his mind betrays him, flashes images before him of a pair of bright, comforting eyes. “You know what will happen if I do.” He clears his throat, and for the first time in hours he’s able to find some strength and lift his head to look out his window, wondering what more could be out there that he’ll never experience. 

“You can’t live like this.” Jonas insists, taking in the amount of fallen petals on the floor. 

“I won’t live either way.” Isak replies, somber and detached. 

Jonas sighs heavily. 

“You don’t know that.”

“You’re so goddamn optimistic.” Isak huffs as he finally looks at Jonas, meeting the suspected look of pure joy and hope. 

“And you’re a nightmare of pessimism.” He responds, cracking a small grin that makes his face look utterly ridiculous and endearing, makes it hard to disagree. “And you’re dramatic, meanwhile I’m _real_ -” 

“Don’t play opposites with me, this is serious.” Isak retorts, unable to keep himself from smiling, just a little. 

“I _know_ this is serious. I wish you would’ve told me it got worse-“ 

“It hasn’t gotten worse!” Isak’s voice cracks, and as he begins coughing again, Jonas moves away, grabbing the toilet paper from Isak’s side table without a second thought and ripping some off for him. 

Isak takes it, dabs away the sourness at the corners of his mouth. 

Who knew something that looked so beautiful could taste so foul. 

Jonas seats himself slowly next to Isak again, looking lost, defeated in his attempts. Isak doesn’t think he’s being defeated by this anymore, though he knows it's worn him down into threads. He’s done feeling guilty about it, done fighting it. He’s let it consume him, as if he had a choice in the matter, but he’s _accepted_ it. 

“How can I help?” Jonas asks then, shoulders sagged informally. “You wouldn’t get the surgery, and now it’s clearly past that point..and you _refuse_ to tell him — what else is there to do?” 

Isak sucks in a breath, and then another, finding it easier to breathe in this moment than it has been all night. 

“Wait.” Isak says finally as a response, thumbing over the tissue in his palm, hands aching to reach to the floor and collect every petal into his arms, hold them close. 

He used to hide them, but the days he spent forcefully swallowing them back were more painful than letting them go. Now they lay bare for the world to see. 

All except for the one person Isak wishes could see it. See _Isak_ like Isak see’s _him_. 

But that will never happen. 

Jonas doesn’t leave until Isak falls asleep, staying by his side as he coughs up more petals before finally passing out from the exhaustion, the floral scent that surrounds them both is anything but soothing.

. 

. 

.

Isak tries to escape, but Even’s thumb presses onto the tip of his nose and smears across his cheek, just narrowly avoiding his eye, before Isak has a chance to get away from him. His cheek is now covered in melted ice-cream, paralleling Even’s own. 

“You _dick_ !” Isak shouts in mock anger, and Even gasps a laugh, eyes already wet and glimmering with tears of pure joy. A few of their friends turn to look, but not for long, having migrated two tables over to give them space - and for what, _this_? So Isak could be further tormented? 

Isak has found himself seated in a booth next to Even after a revue party, most of which was spent sipping his beer to hold back his fits, watching as various individuals tried their luck at getting Even to dance with them, and Isak was filled with satisfaction every time Even turned them down. 

“You started it!” Even laughs, pointing to his cheek that Isak had slapped his spoon against only a moment earlier. 

The ice-cream is running down the side of his jaw now and Isak has to stop himself from leaning forward and licking it off of him. He’s right next to him, he’s so close, he can still smell his cologne. 

For a second Even had looked shocked, always achingly gorgeous, and then his ocean eyes sparked with temptation and a clear challenge as he dug his fingers into Isak’s ice cream, proceeding to then smear it on his face as well, the two now sporting opposite smears of pink ice cream. Even always got his with caramel, and Isak preferred the strawberry. 

They are sitting dangerously close, and Isak is still a little angry with Even, who had paid for both their ice-creams before Isak had a chance to. Isak can never stay mad at him for long, if at all. Even when he’s just dug his fingers around in his ice-cream. 

Even’s laughter dies out slowly after he hiccups, and Isak shakes his head out of his stupor, out of his _mind_ with how much this hurts. 

It’s just not _fair,_ is the thing.

“You can’t...say that kind of stuff...” Isak trails off, stirring his ice-cream before spooning a bit into his mouth, licking the corners of his lips, momentarily forgetting about the stickiness drying on his cheek as he focuses on Even’s previous statement that started this sugary war in the first place. 

“Why not?” Even says, and the smile on his face is annoyingly big and divine, like the rest of him, and Isak sighs as he feels that familiar feeling of something blooming in his chest. “Why can’t I compliment you?” He asks, his tone still teasing, and if only he could feel how fast Isak’s heart is beating, maybe he wouldn’t be so cruel.

“Because we’re just friends.” 

“Friend’s can’t tell their friend’s that they look _hot as fuck_ in their new jeans?” Even asks, repeating his earlier statement, and Isak wonders if Even knows what he’s doing as he leans in, lowers his voice, his cup of ice-cream sliding away and his hands falling into his lap, closer to Isak. Always closer but never close enough. That’s how it’s always been with them, and it’s how it always will be. 

He knocks his knee to Isak’s under the table where none of their friends would notice, even if they were paying any attention, which they definitely are _not_. That’s evident in how each time Isak has tried to look to Jonas for help, Jonas had completely ignored him, pretending to be too deep in another conversation and actively avoiding his urgent looks.

“ _Even_ ! I _swear-_ “ Isak can feel his cheeks going warm and pink, the pit of his stomach dropping to the floor. The vines root deeper, planting him here momentarily, tasting the familiar sourness. He _feels_ the slither of the soft petals up his throat. 

He needs to get out of this booth, lest he spews out bouquets right here, right now, at 4 am in a McDonalds. 

He’s been doing really good all night, which is partly thanks to Jonas, who suggested smoking at their little pre-party to ease his mind. It hadn’t been easy to smoke, but it’d been worth it for the first half of the night. As much as pain is worth, if anything at all. 

Even takes hold of Isak’s wrist just as he stands, pulling Isak back down without much thought, with not much care, as they suddenly tumble into one another, because neither of them has a shred of gracefulness combined. 

Isak stumbles into Even’s lap as Even gets his arm around Isak’s waist, holding him close as Isak squirms helplessly. 

“Let me _go_ , for fucks sake, I just want to wash this shit off my face-“

“I’m pretty sure there were a few people at that party who would’ve offered to _lick_ it off your face, had you ever dared to get up off that couch—“ He says dramatically, and Isak chokes, because only a moment ago he was imagining licking _Even’s_ face. 

He clenches his teeth, tries to keep it in, and every breath he takes he feels like wheezing. 

“Right now is _not_ the time—“ He knows by now he’s flushed red, concentrating on too many things at once. His thoughts feel like a traffic jam and Even is at the head of it all.

“But _no,_ you just like to sit in a corner, being all _pretty_ and uncaring, what’s it like?”

Isak knows he’s teasing, can hear it in his tone because Even lacks no subtly in that department, but it doesn’t help when he’s _this_ close to letting the flowers bloom completely inside him, surrounded by the scent and feel of Even, of everything he desires. 

It’s _not fair_ , and so so cruel, and he takes a deep breath before he gathers enough strength to push himself up and out of the booth, only to storm towards the washroom. 

Even lets him go. 

. 

. 

.

The metal chair squeaks across the cafeteria floor as Isak pulls it with him towards their overcrowded table, where the girls are currently discussing details for another revue party, animated hands and mouths flying miles a minute, stacks of papers messily strewn about underneath all their lunches. 

Isak isn’t inclined to listen, he really isn’t in the mood to party again after the weekend he had. 

He ignored everything this weekend after Even had walked him home that Friday evening, or more like _Saturday_ _morning_. 

Isak made it to bed and stayed there. 

His throat was raw from coughing, his hands still shaking from the number of times he’d had to pull petals from the back of his throat, the constant pulsing of a lingering migraine still burdening him. He’d worn a baseball cap over his eyes today, paired with a giant scarf and sunglasses.

He doesn’t know how he made it out of bed. At one point, he really thought he wouldn’t survive the weekend, and thankfully none of his friends surprised him with a visit. 

But now he was _here_ , and he sat through his morning lectures in complete disdain. He didn’t have long to go now before he could be back home, secure, and more importantly alone, in his bedroom, where he could wheeze to his heart’s content, hopefully passing out at a reasonable time, only to rinse and repeat tomorrow. Hopefully. 

He places his waffles down on the table before squeezing his chair between Jonas and — _Noora?_

“Where’s Even?” Isak hears himself say before his brain’s caught up with him, looking at Noora sitting in the spot he’d usually find Even, and then to Jonas, who stops halfway between taking a bite of his sandwich, sitting up with a peak of curiosity now that Isak’s arrived. He doesn’t care too much for party discussions, all he needs is _when_ and _where_. 

Noora barely spares Isak a glance, going back to her conversation with Vilde. 

“He didn’t tell you?” Jonas asks quietly, and something begins twisting inside of Isak, and this time it’s not the vines or an impending fit of wheezes. It feels _wrong_ , and he uncaps his water to take a sip before he responds. 

“No?” Isak clears his throat, but it’s no use. His voice is scratchy and thick and there’s no use hiding it. Maybe he should’ve taken Eskild’s offer for tea. He sounds like he’s been at a rock festival, screaming his heart out all weekend. The latter holds some truth. 

“He’s not feeling well, he texted yesterday morning. The flu, or something.”

“He’s been sick since yesterday and you didn’t tell me?” Isak asks, incredulous, but Jonas just deadpans, and then takes a big bite of his sandwich, chewing slowly and letting Isak nearly combust in his chair as he waits, Jonas weighing his options on what to respond. 

“It’s not like you would check your phone, or the door, or _anything._ ” Jonas says as his brows knit together, a familiar sadness washing over them both. 

“Well fuck it, I’m just gonna go check on him.” Isak determines, pushing the waffles towards the middle of the table for his friends to enjoy. 

He can’t stomach anything at the thought of Even being alone, cold and sick in his bed, ignoring the world as Isak had the past two days. He probably has the blinds closed, and Isak wants to run to him, throw them open and let the sunshine in on them both. 

Before Isak can stand and go do just that, Jonas’ hand lands on his shoulder, keeping him seated. 

“Uh…he also texted me because he wanted to make sure _you_ don’t go checking on him.” Jonas says slowly, pulling away his hand then as he lets his statement sink in, and sink in it _does_. Isak feels like a rug has been pulled from under him, and he can’t help but frown, deep lines in his forehead creasing. 

“Huh?” is all Isak responds, and Jonas shrugs before returning to his sandwich. 

“Take it up with him, I guess...when he’s better though, yeah?” 

Isak is fuming in his chair, foot-tapping mindlessly on the floor, heat radiating off of him as his stomach turns into knots, ears ringing. Why wouldn’t Even want him? 

_Hah. Ouch._

“Isak, you look kinda sick, too.” Eva says jokingly, and her voice cuts through to Isak sharply, the sounds of the bustling cafeteria returning to him. He didn’t know she was listening in, and for a moment he’d forgotten he was here at all. “Did you and Even get up to something? Is that why you’re both sick?” She smirks, and then sends him a wink, and the group laughs lightly at his expense as Isak’s cheeks heat up, his mind devolving into white noise. 

He feels it then, rising in his throat, already at the tip of his tongue. Sour and sweet, painful and freeing. He tries to hold it in, tries to take small breaths through his nose to keep himself steady, but then the laughter around him dies out, and all of his friends are now quietly observing him as he goes completely still in his seat. 

“Oh shit, I was _kidding_ but…”

Isak doesn’t hear the rest of what Eva says, because he’s already running, bolting for the nearest washroom. 

It feels like his body is trying to turn itself inside out, his legs weak and shaking as he makes it, throwing open a stall door, slamming it closed and turning the lock just as the floodgates open.

It's an outpouring of deep violet colors, and his veins pop out against his pale skin as he dry heaves the last of them.

He leans against the cold stall wall, head lolling to the side as he counts to ten, and then tries with all his might to press the handle down with his shoe, any energy he previuosly had completely torn from him. He doesn’t know how many petals were in there, but it hurts to watch them go and disappear to the depths. Isak wishes he could—

“Isak?”

Isak quickly stands straight, gasping wetly as he unlocks the door, opening it with a shaking hand. 

Jonas is standing there with Isak’s backpack and his own. 

“I-“

“Don’t be sorry.” Jonas shakes his head, and then he looks at Isak with a reserved stare, and though his eyes look wide and desperate, he smiles warmly, handing him his backpack. “We can skip last period if you want, go smoke in the park or something.” He offers, subtly giving Isak a much needed out. 

“Yeah.” He nods as he pulls on the straps and makes his way to the sink, unable to avoid looking at himself in the mirror. His eyes are watery, and his cheeks are very much flushed, but he doesn’t look too worse for wear. He rinses his mouth, splashes his face, and turns to Jonas. 

“You don’t have to do this alone.” Jonas says, and though his voice is quiet it’s still too loud for the acoustics of a small bathroom, for the way it reverberates within Isak like a siren. Isak doesn’t respond, instead, he chews on the inside of his cheek as he leads them out of the school, Jonas patient as always. 

They don’t end up smoking, mostly because Isak doesn’t want to cough up his lungs if he can help it. 

He does end up sprawled in the grass, the two of them have decided to go study in the park, but Isak can’t help but close his eyes, take a nap under the shade of a cherry blossom tree. The pensive expression on Jonas’ face is the last thing Isak sees before he lets the wind take him under. 

The strong scent of freshly mowed grass, under a guise of endless blue skies. 

. 

. 

.

Sigrid answers the door, her light pink apron tied tight around her waist, glasses on the edge of her nose and her hair clipped back. She looks energized, unlike Isak, the power nap in the park has done nothing to help the weight of the world on his shoulders. 

He woke up to another fit. Jonas had clapped a hand to his back a few times to try and help, but Isak winced when he did it, so Jonas retreated, looking regretful and even more worrisome each time Isak so much as breathed. 

He wasn’t wincing because of Jonas and the way he’d unceremoniously smacked the middle of his back, but because the idea of having someone else try and bears his pain was too much. He _had_ to hold this up on his own, and it’s exactly what he’s planning to do. 

_You don’t have to do this alone_. 

There wasn’t any other way _to_ do it. 

And now he’s here, standing on the doorstep of the Bech Næsheim household, eagerly awaiting to see Even, to make sure he’s doing okay above all things. 

His heart has been hammering ever since he woke up, and right now Isak doesn’t regret the little white lie he told Jonas to get himself here, away from prying words and observing eyes. 

His heart was _longing_ to run past her as it beat wildly in his chest, wanting to burst into Even’s room and let his mind go at ease at the sight of him. But he waited patiently, giving Sigrid the kindest smile he can muster whilst he feels like his stomach is trying to uproot itself.

“He told me not to let you in.” Sigrid says as she opens the door wide, and Isak kicks off his shoes before he goes in for a hug, which she gladly responds with a squeeze. 

“How is he?” 

“Well, he spent the better half of the day yesterday sick in the washroom, and today he’s been resting.” She explains as he follows her through the front hall into the kitchen, a vanilla candle lit on the counter amongst a bunch of baking utensils. “I think whatever he had is out of his system, now, so you can go on up and surprise him like I know you want to.” She laughs lightly, beginning to untie a bag of flour and already shooing him out of the room. 

Isak doesn’t need to be told twice. After a slight moment of hesitation, he takes a cup of water with him as a buffer.

Even’s room is still and dark. Isak can make out the form of him, lying soundlessly in the middle of his bed like a starfish, limbs spread and inviting, his duvet swept up around him. Isak _knew_ he would have his curtains drawn, so the first thing he does, after placing the cup of water down at his desk, is quietly sneak towards them and draw them back to let in the light. 

The sun is low enough in the sky to be an angry orange, half the sky deep indigo cascading into reds and pinks, filling the room with color and life it desperately needs. He doesn’t know if he’ll miss the blinding sunrise that peeks through his eyes each morning, but sunsets were always his favorite anyway. 

Maybe he is too pessimistic. 

That’s when he hears a groan, and he turns as Even has just finished shuffling in his bed, arms now curled around and under his pillow, cheek pressed into it and staring narrow towards Isak, eyes sharp, knocking the absolute wind out of Isak.

There’s not much he can do under his stare, brighter than the sun and stronger in its unrelenting heat. 

It creates something new each time within him, burrowing deep in his guts and carving through his insides like a vice, shivers sparking down his spine, feeling that irresistible urge to _bloom_.

He would never get enough.

Even blinks at him tiredly, a pout on his rounded lips, a flushed look on his face as he tears his gaze away from Isak and inhales deep through his nose, shuffling onto his back and looking up at the ceiling, his blankets curling around his torso and hips, t-shirt twisted. 

Isak sighs. And then he sighs again, and _again_ , until Even finally looks at him, now more annoyed than ever, brows furrowed and lips pouting. 

“You didn’t have to come to check on me. I didn’t want—“

“Yeah, yeah, scoot over.” Isak is already making his way toward him, throwing his jacket to the floor along with his cap as Even quickly lifts the duvet and lets him climb in. 

There’s no winner in a game like this, and the one thing they try not to fight about is taking _care_ , because what kind of friend would Isak be if he didn’t care? 

And _fuck_ , he cared. He cared like no one else. 

He cared with his heart and his soul and every piece of him that gets rooted deeper and thrown up altogether. He cared so hard it wasn’t even a word to him anymore, it wasn’t a fathomable thing. He just _did_ it for Even, always. 

And Even would care. But Isak was never going to be brave enough to ask if there was a limit. 

Isak begins shuffling and Even watches him quietly as a small smirk grows on his tired features, any evidence that he was ever angry that Isak arrived announced is gone. 

He doesn’t look like he’s been sick all weekend, but then again, maybe, neither does Isak. Eva’s comment is still lingering, ping-ponging through his thoughts and he’s wondering how much this is really starting to take a toll on his outward appearance. 

“Are you trying to take off your socks?” Even whispers into the stillness of the room, and it’s clear he’s been trying, and not succeeding, to stifle a laugh. His voice is laced with exhaustion, and Isak melts further into the bed. 

“Yes! Just give me a second.” Isak grumbles and Even shakes the bed with his laughter as Isak pushes his left sock off his foot and begins with the right, leaving them under the covers. 

He situates himself after a moment and doesn’t realize he’s breathing heavily until Even starts laughing again. 

“You sound like you just ran a marathon.”

“You try taking _your_ socks off underneath this ridiculously heavy duvet! Who needs this pretentious shit anyways?” Isak complains as he rolls onto his side, and Even shifts half his pillow towards him, letting a moment pass as they both get comfortable, lying on their sides to look at one another. 

“You’re such a bad liar...I bet you probably have a weighted blanket on backorder and now you’re just jealous that _I_ have one.” Even teases, sticking his tongue out. Isak giggles high, and then halts it, clearing his throat and surprisingly, it’s clear. 

“A weighted blanket. That sounds almost like a porn thing.” Isak muses after a minute, sniffling. 

“A porn thing?” Even repeats, eyes starry for some unknown reason. 

“Yeah.”

“How?” 

“I don’t know. Like you get off on the pressure or something.” Isak continues as Even laughs and looks at Isak questioningly, although Isak doesn’t know where he’s going with this, because the truth is — this is comfortable as hell.

There could be a lot of factors into why he’s suddenly so fond of Even’s fuzzy weighted blanket. He barely slept this weekend, and even though he’d passed out in _public_ on the fucking _grass_ he still couldn’t manage to get any sort of quality rest. 

And right now, under the heaviness of the blanket, and the weight of Even’s stare, he can’t help but feel as if he’s floating between states of consciousness. The tips of his toes and his fingers feel a little numb, and maybe he’s so past the point of exhaustion that he’s not thinking properly — but maybe, just maybe —

No, not maybe. It _has_ to be Even, whose quiet breaths are so calming it’s the only thing Isak can hear right now, over the rhythmic beating of his heart against his ribcage, or the odd crash of pans from downstairs. 

And for the first time in a long time, violets are the furthest thing from his mind. 

Even scoots closer, noses inches from one another, and Isak keeps his face squished halfway into Even’s pillow, not so subtly pressing his nose to it, inhaling and absorbing as much as he can, his eyes beginning to feel like lead underneath Even’s stare. 

“Sleep.” Even whispers, the word barely passing his lips as Isak’s eyes flutter closed, and he does just that. 

He barely feels it as Even’s hand ghosts across his waist and around his back so nonchalant, but so sure. Isak goes willingly, pliant with sleep and a subconscious necessity of his touch as Even pulls him in, and Isak curls into the crook where his protruding collarbone meets the span of his neck, lightly curling the cotton of Even’s shirt into his fist. 

_Even Even Even_. 

Vanilla cake. 

Indigo skies. 

Isak’s eyelids lift heavy, and he meets blue one final time. 

Cutthroat speeches sit sourly on the tip of his tongue that fades into dreams. 

.

. 

. 

It probably wasn’t the most shocking thing to walk in on, but here Even was, letting out _the_ _most_ _dramatic_ gasp Isak had ever heard as he watched Even’s empty glass of water slip from his fingers, smashing into pieces at his feet. 

The door to the living room swung closed behind him, and his big blue eyes looked between Isak and Sana blankly before he quickly melted into a puddle of apologies. 

He swooped down to try picking up the pieces, and Isak’s stomach dropped with him at the thought of Even touching any broken glass with his _bare hands._ His knees weak, heart in his throat as Sana reaches for him, stopping him before Even bend’s half his height. 

“Don’t worry, it happens.” Sana brushes it off cooly, carefully shooing Even backward before she retreats to grab a broom from the cupboard, muttering something under her breath as she goes. 

Isak stays seated on the counter barstool, his hand slowly relaxing from the grip it had on the mixing spoon, where he was just licking icing off of when Even walked in.

Without thinking, or thinking _too_ much perhaps, Isak looks away from Even as he anxiously licks the corner of his mouth, making sure he doesn’t have icing _everywhere_ , before meeting his eyes again. 

Sana had the idea of baking a cake to celebrate finishing midterms, and Isak was happy to help as the one who reads all the ingredients and tried the batter before it went in the oven. He came home with her after their last class, and definitely wasn’t expecting to see Even here - although, it wasn’t an unfamiliar sight now that he’d made up with his old group of friends. 

Still, Isak smirked, because he couldn’t help it - what had made Even so _spooked_? 

“You okay there?” Isak asks, the sweetness never leaving his mouth, and from the look Even gives him, it almost seems like he can taste it too. 

Even tilts his head to the side, a quirk of his brow and a turn of his lip, and something picks up inside of Isak as he sits straighter on the barstool, a laugh getting caught in the back of his throat. He can tell Even’s _just_ about to start laughing as well, but as Sana returns they clamp their mouths shut in unison. 

Even doesn’t respond, but his amused, almost satisfied grin, never leaves his face as he sweeps up the pieces slowly. 

“Sorry…” Even mumbles out, and Sana opens a drawer to pull out a plastic bag. 

“Just don’t ever pick a broken glass up with your hands, alright? I swear — sometimes I feel like I’m a mother already! I’m only 19!” She says, and the oven beeps loudly over her final piece. 

Even takes one look towards Isak, and it breaks them both. 

Isak drops the spoon, Even drops his broom, and they _roll_ into bouts of laughter. Sana shakes her head and turns to put the cake in the oven, plastic bag left on the counter. 

The kitchen door swings open again, narrowly avoiding hitting Even in the back. 

“Careful!” Even says quickly, and two messy flops of dark hair jump back into the living room, but then one puts their hand against the door to keep it cracked open. 

“What?” Mutta pops his head in, eyes scanning the room with a worried expression before he lands on Isak and breaks into a charming, cheesy grin. “ _Heeeyyy_.” He drawls, and then he’s about to step in, clearly intending to greet Isak closer, but Even stops him again. 

“I dropped my glass and it broke, let me sweep it up.” Even looks grim, and Mutta looks like he doesn’t know whether to be surprised or not, something borderline amused and shocked. 

Isak wonders if any of Even’s friends would have dropped a glass just upon seeing Isak licking icing off a spoon. He’s not so sure, but then again, he’s not sure if that’s the reason. But what other reason could it have been? 

“You damaged the Bakkoush’s property?” Mutta asks, although the lilt in his voice sounds like he’s just trying to poke fun. 

“Wouldn’t be the first time!” Mikael teases outright as he then pops his head in from around Mutta. He sends a smile over to Isak and Sana almost immediately. 

Isak’s stomach flips, and he hops off the barstool just as fast as the sourness rises, head spinning. 

This feels different. These aren’t petals at all. 

“Isak-?” Sana’s voice trails after him, but Isak is halfway down the hall already. 

He skids into the washroom, a hand clamped over his mouth as he shuts the door and heaves into the sink. 

And sure, they _look_ like the usual violets, deep pink and blue splotches, but instead of that velvety feeling climbing up his esophagus, it feels like _knives_ , and the metallic taste burns on his tongue, scratching his throat and his mouth as he spits them into the sink. 

Thorns. In the sink, unmistakable. Each petal has a few, stitched through their soft cores. 

A quiet, pained sound escapes him, only the slightest bit of tension lifting, and he looks up at himself in the mirror, his disheveled and ghostly appearance staring back at him. 

Isak understands what Eva saw now, what all his friends must be noticing, and what Jonas has so blatantly pointed out. 

It’s gotten _so_ much worse, and he looks it, with deep bags under his eyes in contrast to his pale skin, unruly hair - he really doesn’t have the time to get it cut. He looks and feels _terrible_ \- he doesn’t know how he can hide _this_ anymore. 

He doesn’t realize how hard he’s gripping the sink, knuckles white against the porcelain until he reaches for a tissue. He tries to focus on cleaning out the sink but he can’t stop looking at himself, his reflection _terrifies_ him, scares him so much that he can’t help but stare. He sniffs, familiar tears welling his eyes as he finally looks away. 

He rinses his mouth, looks around the edges of the sink to make sure he didn’t miss anything, and he opens the door. 

He doesn’t have a plan, but maybe he’ll say he’s caught Even’s flu bug. Or Sana’s cooking didn’t agree with him — no, he’ll have to go with the earlier option, he can’t blame Sana. 

He wouldn’t blame Even, either. He would only blame himself for going over that day and cuddling Even into the night…into the morning…into an awkward breakfast with Sigrid and Jan after they’d found them giggling and rolling around in each other’s arms. Isak is surprised he didn’t cough once that morning. 

“ _Oomph-“_ Isak walks straight into someone’s back, and two pairs of arms flail around as they reach for each other instinctively. 

It’s only ever instinct when it’s _him._

“Fuck, are you trying to give me a heart attack!?” Isak exclaims, shoving Even off of him the moment he realizes it’s him. 

Even’s eyes widen once he gets a good look at Isak. 

“You’re bleeding.” 

“What?” Isak responds indignantly, a little too snappy for himself, and he almost feels like he needs to apologize for it. Even softens, sighing as he pushes Isak lightly back into the bathroom before closing the door behind them.

It’s just a small powder room, a toilet across from a sink and mirror, enough for one person. With the two of them in there, it’s too confined, and the room feels a lot smaller and a _hell_ of a lot warmer now, the bottom of Isak’s back pressed against the sink. 

Even grabs a tissue, and without any further words, cups Isak’s jaw lightly with one hand and begins dabbing away at the corner of Isak’s mouth. Isak tries not to gasp too audibly, even though his heart rate spikes, eyes widening at the gesture. 

“What-“

“Why are you bleeding?” Even questions quietly, staring around Isak’s mouth for a moment before he meets his eyes, an anxious glint behind them, and Isak searches his brain for an excuse, anything to make Even stop looking at him like that. 

“A cold sore.” Isak tries, and to speak feels like running his nails across a chalkboard. 

“Cold sores are on the outside of your mouth.” Even responds quickly. 

“I have one inside!”

“Why are you lying to me?”

“Why are you lying to _me?_ ” 

“What?” Even huffs a laugh suddenly, incredulous, and somehow a little anxious, catching Isak off guard. It’s silent between them as Even crumples the small tissue into his fist before he throws it in the bin next to Isak. “What would _I_ be lying about?” He asks, but he’s not looking at Isak when he says it. “What’s going on? Why are you bleeding inside your mouth?”

“Cold sores.” Isak insists, and Even frowns, head bowed slightly as he looks at him. 

“What’s going on, Isak? What _aren’t_ you telling me?” 

“I-I just… got sick.” Isak stammers, trying to shrug but his shoulders are tense and unwilling to cooperate. 

“You _got_ sick? Have you _been_ sick before today?” If Even steps any closer he could press his chest against Isak’s, feeling the way his heart is like a hummingbird, desperately beating for him. The most beautiful flower. 

“No.” Isak says lowly, trying to keep his stare calm and strong despite the tidal waves inside of him. 

Even raises his hand and presses it to Isak’s forehead, his gaze never leaving Isak’s, filled with worry and patience. 

Something fills inside of Isak as Even touches him, it pours over him like a divine cleanse, like sun rays on a cloudless day. Even’s hand is against his cheek now as well, _both_ of those _big_ hands on his face, and they’re alone together, in the confines of this powder room. 

It’s like the euphoric high of a rollercoaster ride, and then Even drops his hands to his sides. The feeling lingers. Isak thinks he might let out a whine, but Even sighs at the same time, and in a moment of rationality he hopes to _God_ Even didn’t hear that. 

“You don’t _feel_ hot or anything..” Even says, and then he smirks. “You do _look_ hot though, if that makes you feel better.” 

“What!? _Even_ -“

“We’re not having this fight _again_ about how we’re _just_ _friends—_ ”

“No, I mean-“ Isak turns and gestures to himself in the mirror. 

Isak levels with his reflection in the stillness of the room, then meets Even’s eyes in the mirror, who looks genuinely lost. 

“What?” Even asks, and Isak rolls his eyes, scoffing as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“I…” Isak trails off. He was going to say that he looked like a zombie right now, and there was no denying that, but Even’s eyes are wide and watching, and instead, he feels like confessing. 

_No,_ not _that_ kind of confession, but maybe just a little bit of the truth wouldn’t hurt. 

“I haven’t slept in weeks.” Isak continues then, and Even’s eyes don’t waver from his, though they swim with questions, all of the things Isak has been trying to avoid. “Not properly… I’m stressed about school, and my mom, and my nonexistent _job_ and I _know_ I look like the Devil’s asshole right now, Even, so _you_ saying that it _.._ it-- _“_ _hurts_ , he doesn’t finish. 

“Not to me.” Even whispers, and then he shrugs half-heartedly, looking as unapologetic as ever, clearly trying not to laugh too hard from the way Isak had just described himself. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he puts his hands in his pockets, leaning back against nothing, standing effortlessly gorgeous and staring at Isak for a long, _long_ moment before he speaks again. “You always look… _beautiful_. To me.”

His words are softer than any petal Isak has ever felt. 

There’s a shift in the air around them, a charge between them that wasn’t there a moment before, and it’s simmering on the surface as they stare at one another in the mirror, neither daring to move first. Isak swallows, no lumps in his throat, chest beginning to rise and fall with short breaths as he hesitates -- and Even does too -- or so it _seems_. (He never gets to find out.) 

Towards one another. 

Away. 

The door swings open between them. 

“ _What_ is going on?” Sana cuts in, and Even steps back against the wall to avoid getting smacked by the door _again_ , almost falling into the toilet. He readjusts, fumbling straight on his legs, smiling sheepishly as his cheeks flush, and then Sana turns to Isak, but he’s still looking at Even. “Are you okay? Do you need me to drive you home?”

Before Isak can answer, Even speaks up. 

“I can drive him.”

“It’s fine, I need to get my Mom from work-“ Sana tries. 

“I was leaving anyway-“

“Didn’t you guys just get in from the park?”

“Yeah but it’s fine-”

“Uh - _hallooo_ ?” Isak cuts in, and the way Sana and Even look at him is comical, as though they both forgot he was there. “I’m _fine._ I don’t need to go home.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes… let’s uh…go study in your room while we wait for the cake.” Isak says flatly, and Sana eyes him a moment before she nods slowly, thankfully agreeing to his haphazard plan. 

It’s awkward as they both try to exit at the same time, their long gangly limbs trying not to touch, but the knowledge of being so close to one another sending all kinds of alarms off in Isak’s head, the mess of his thoughts and feelings overwhelming. 

Even steps back and gestures for Isak to step out first. It's paradoxical on all accounts, how Isak can’t taste the sourness, but he still _aches_ for Even, and usually that would be enough to consummate the bitterness on his tongue, bouquets at the ready. 

He slumps on Sana’s bed and lets out a breath the moment she closes the door.

“I do have to go get my mom, but not for a bit.” Sana says, coming over to sit next to Isak on her bed. “So, we have time for a chat.” She grins, her dimples prominent.

“A chat?” 

“Yes. I _know_ we don’t need to study, so tell me what’s on your mind, Isabel.” 

Isak swallows, throat closing up, blinking at her blankly.

“Nothing.” He says, and his face is steadily reddening from trying to hold back a cough. His throat is tickling now, vines are suffocating - but when are they not? Briefly he thinks of Even, and his breath comes a little easier, only for a moment. 

“It didn’t _look_ like nothing. But when does it _ever_ look like nothing?” 

“What?” He chokes out. 

“What? I don’t know why you guys are like this.” 

“Like... what?”

“For as long as I’ve known you and Even, you two have always clicked so seamlessly. I don’t understand what this weird tension is between you guys lately, I see it in both of you, and I just want you to know you can trust me, if there’s something going on--“

Isak sputters and coughs, unable to hold it down, and he squeezes his eyes shut in horror as the petals escape him. At least there’s no thorns this time. Sana audibly gasps, and then she’s quiet, any rambling thoughts having ceased.

He can barely see through the tears swimming his eyes, the petals in his cupped hands burning a hole through his palms. He doesn’t know how much more of this emptiness he can take, his heart dipping deeper into an endless void each time the petals fall.

Sana doesn’t say anything then, she gets up off the bed and grabs a tissue for Isak, holding it out to him, waiting for him to take it. 

“ _Takk_.” Isak thanks her quietly, wiping his hands on the tissue, crumpling the violet petals up inside of it and putting it in his coat pocket. 

“So _that’s_ it then, hmm?” Sana says, back beside Isak now, raising a tentative hand to his lower back, giving him a few comforting pats that are anything but. 

“You know what this is?”

“I’ve studied all kinds of diseases, Isak.” She says, sounds of laughter coming from behind her closed door. 

Somewhere in the house Even is happy, blissfully unaware of the pure anguish coursing through Isak. And Isak knows he has to keep it that way. He needs to suffer in silence, let Even be happy.

“You should tell him.”

“What?!” Isak looks up at her in fear, shaking his head vigorously as nerves begin to form. “You know I can’t.”

“Why? Because you think he doesn’t love you back?”

“He doesn’t. Not in the way that matters.”

“So you’re saying if he only ever loves you as a friend it doesn’t matter?”

Isak chokes again then, being reminded of the fact is just as severe as thinking of it himself. He doubles over, hacking up a few more petals as Sana gets him another tissue, looking sorry herself. 

“Isak…” She whispers absently, her voice just as pained as Jonas’. He shakes his head back and forth, the world around him spinning violently. 

“I’ll never tell him.” Isak confides, unwilling tears streaking down his face. 

“How do you _know,_ Isak?” Sana questions, and Isak ponders it for a moment. 

“Know what?”

“How do you know that he doesn’t love you? As more than a friend, I mean — if you never talk to him, you’ll never know.” 

“Everyone just keeps telling me to _talk_ to him. As if it’s _easy —_ I— “ Isak stutters, and forces himself to get up off the bed, angered now more than anything. Sana doesn’t follow as he walks over to her window, arms crossed over his chest, trying to catch his breath as his heart races. 

“When I look at him…” He continues slowly, each word more painful than the last. “I know there’s no way he could love me. I wouldn’t love me.” He looks over at Sana, but regrets it immediately, seeing the broken look on her face which surely mirrors his own. “I’ve thought of every possible outcome, all the ways I could tell him — it just hurts to think about. I can’t tell him — and you can’t make me. Nobody can. So _please_ , don’t try to convince me, and do _not_ tell anyone else about this.” 

Sana doesn’t say anything. Isak waits, and waits, but she’s quiet sitting on her bed. Contemplating, he assumes, but what, he doesn’t want to know. 

“Okay.” She says after a few minutes, and it feels sharp, unbalanced from the way she usually is. He knows that she must be holding back from saying whatever she wants to say to him, and he’s not sure if he’s grateful for it. 

“Okay.”

.

. 

.

Isak doesn’t think he’s ever seen this side of Even before. He doesn’t know if he even has a word to describe the emotion struck on his face, something distraught, something filled with _jealousy._ Whatever it is, it's making Isak sweat, stomach-churning as he finishes sipping his third beer of the night, desperately trying to make sense of the situation. 

There’s a cute boy chatting him up, and Isak can’t even remember his _name_ . All he can see, all he can _feel_ is Even’s stare, burning into him, unrelenting, somehow ending up more soothing than anything - and maybe it’s turning Isak on a little, but he’s chalking that up to the booze, to the cute boy with brown eyes that keeps telling Isak how _hot_ he thinks he is. 

“Is that your boyfriend?” 

“Huh?” Isak zeros back into the conversation, completely clueless to whatever the boy was saying before. 

“That guy, he keeps looking at us. Is that your boyfriend? Your ex, or something?” He questions, his arm behind the sofa, across Isak’s shoulders, testing the waters. 

Isak glances back over to Even, standing across the room, and even though Isak meets his stare he doesn’t look away. Even’s jaw is clenched tight, Isak can tell he’s tensed up, for what reason? Isak doesn’t know. He doesn’t understand. 

“He’s not my boyfriend. Or my ex.” Isak states, finally looking back to the boy. 

“Okay - then are you just…not into me or something?” He asks bluntly, beginning to move his arm from around Isak, and Isak splutters. 

“What? No - I - I just -“ Isak starts shaking his head, unsure of what more he could say. 

_I can’t kiss you. I can’t touch you. I can’t even look at you. You’re not him._

Isak doesn’t remember the last time he hooked up with someone, or enjoyed doing so - he thought it might be a good idea to _try_ tonight, but it was turning out to be one of the hardest things he’s ever done. 

“Then…wanna make out?” His arm is back around Isak then, leaning close to whisper into his ear, and it sends all kinds of shivers through his body, but not the good kind. 

“I..I uh-“ Isak glances back over at Even, only to find him gone. “Uh, I’ll be right back.” Isak stammers, and he doesn’t know how his legs move for him but they do, and he looks around the room desperately for any sign of where Even could’ve gone, only catching a glimpse of his flannel before he fled into the kitchen. 

He enters the kitchen to see the sliding door to the backyard slamming closed, the sound barely making anyone turn their head, but Isak nearly jumps at the noise, and then carries on, stomping towards the door and sliding it open to follow Even out. 

It’s quiet in the backyard, save for the sound of thunder clouds rolling in, few people on the porch are smoking and drinking. Isak strains his eyes into the dark to see a tall figure in the middle of the garden, and he would recognize _that_ back anywhere. 

He steps off the porch, approaches Even as quick as he can. 

“Even?” Isak says, the music fading into the background, the grass squishy under his shoes. Even puts his hand up, forcing Isak to stop walking, and his brain short circuits once Even bends over, a hand over his mouth. “What is it? Are you sick?”

“I can’t do this anymore.” He says, glancing over at Isak, eyes wide with what can only be described as _fear,_ tears brimming and making his eyes sparkle under the stars. 

“What? Fuck — you’re scaring me, what’s wrong?” Isak steps toward him, ignoring Even’s silent pleas to stay back, putting a hand on his shoulder only for Even to flinch. 

And then, Even coughs. Three pink rose petals fall from his mouth, and Isak gasps, tripping as he stumbles backward and falls on his ass. 

Isak knows his mouth is hanging open in shock, but he doesn’t have much thought to closing it, he can already feel the lumps climbing back up his throat.

“Even-“ He chokes, watching as Even sits back in the grass as well, both hands over his mouth, squeezing hard. 

“I’m sorry.” Even says between his fingers, sniffing and avoiding his eyes. Lightning cracks in the sky overhead and the thunder that follows makes Isak shake. 

“You...you're in love with someone?” Isak asks, and then because he can’t help it with sudden information like this — it has him doubling over, and he begins coughing, nearly full-sized violets coming up this time. 

“Fuck!” Even is suddenly at his side, scrambling to get next to him, putting a hand at the middle of his back. “You-”

“Who do you love?” Isak rushes to ask, cutting Even off. 

Even’s eyes are wide and desperate, chest rising and falling with rapid breaths, mouth opening and closing but no answer forming. Isak blinks back hot tears, pricking his eyes as he takes a breath. 

“Tell me, Even, I can--” He swallows, “I can take it.”

“ _I_ can’t!”

“ _Even!_ —“

“It’s _you_ , Isak! I love _you_.”

Even looks like he’s waiting for something to happen then, some kind of fallout. 

A raindrop hits Isak’s cheek, and they simultaneously look up, just as it begins to pour. 

Even picks Isak up off the ground, one arm around his waist as they run back into the house along with the other people on the porch, all scrambling for shelter from the rain. 

They’re nearly drenched, squeezing into the kitchen with multiple other people who are now equally wet. 

“Fuckin’ hell! That came out of nowhere!” Eva is in the kitchen preparing a drink and is laughing _hard_ at the state of them. People begin shuffling out of the kitchen, and it takes Isak a moment to catch up, thoughts still lingering in the garden. 

He looks up at Even, who’s clearly trying not to look back, instead, he's wringing out the front of his shirt. 

“Roses.” Isak thinks aloud, and finally Even looks at him, taking his breath away. 

“Violets.” He responds quietly, eyes casting to look at Isak’s lips, and really, there’s nothing more he needs. 

“It’s _you_ , too, Even. I - I love you, I’ve only ever bloomed for _you_ -”

Even cups Isak’s cheeks and kisses him. And kisses him, and kisses him, and kisses him. 

Nothing’s ever tasted so sweet. 

.

.

.

_where roses are blue, and violets red,_

_the way you say_ i love you _on repeat in my head,_

_violets begin where roses end_

_forever in this garden we’ll spend_

**Author's Note:**

> Comments & kudos much appreciated! 
> 
> Curious as to why I chose the flowers I did:   
> Violets - February flower (Even's bday)   
> & Roses - June flower (Isak's bday) 
> 
> I'm on Tumblr @peachyisak  
> And twitter @ricedkrispies  
> (come hmu!)
> 
> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed <3


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